We May Read for Enjoyment, but Literature Isn’t Written Just to Entertain Us.

the purpose of literature

hy are books written, if not for a reader’s enjoyment? People have been telling stories since the dawn of time.  As Ursula K. Le Guin points out, “There have been great societies that did not use the wheel, but there have been no societies that did not tell stories.”[1] That said, as much as some of us like to just kick back and ride a good narrative, storytelling has never been just about entertainment.

Narrative is so important because stories have always been the best way to pass on essential knowledge. It’s important to know the best place to look for grubs, for example, or the rules and expectations of the clan. Putting this information in an entertaining package not only helped it take root in young minds, a message embedded in an enjoyable story was more likely to be passed on.[2] And narrative continues to serve such a  purpose.

The Celtic tale about a supernatural woman winning the footrace she was forced to run against the king’s chariot despite being in the throes of birth pangs, is a fantastic story to be sure.[3]  But the underlying message in The Curse of Macha is that we should treat our mothers well. It isn’t called the “Curse” of Macha for nothing. Yarns about the child-snatching arctic sea monster Qallupilluk are exciting on their face, but the lesson is clear. “Inuit children, ‘it is never safe to play on the beach alone!’”[4] And the warning imbedded in the fairy tale thriller Little Red Riding Hood is quite simply, “don’t talk to strangers.”[5]
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the purpose of literature

Legends and Epic Poetry
Shape History and Cultural Beliefs.

Take Gilgamesh for instance, said to be the oldest written story in the world.[6] The epic’s hero was a historical king of the Mesopotamian city Uruk, and versions of his legendary deeds had been handed down in oral fashion for hundreds of years. Gilgamesh’s exploits involve the face-changing monster Humbaba, a pantheon of gods and goddesses, not to mention the wild man Enkidu. Though they are indeed gripping tales of adventure, they were “printed” during the reign of King Shulgi (of the Third Dynasty of Ur) for a political purpose. King Shulgi claimed the gods and ancient Kings of Uruk as ancestors in order to strengthen the legitimacy of his own kingship.[7] Literally setting the epic in stone, or in this case clay tablets, gives King Shulgi’s claim an authority impervious to challenge. And given the permanent nature of the written word, he gets to control what is now an incontrovertible narrative.

When it comes to Virgil’s Aeneid who doesn’t love a good battle scene, especially one fueled by a vindictive goddess? But once again, there’s more to it than that. There is a longstanding view that Virgil was commissioned to write his epic poem by Emperor Augustus, in an effort to unite the Roman people after a long period of civil conflict. The Aeneid not only depicts the founding of Roman society, it hearkens back to a period of strength and glory in Rome’s past. Virgil uses the long-running conflict between Rome and Carthage to unify the Roman people by reminding them of a time when their greatest threat was from a foreign power.[8]

Merlin, and the references to dragons in Arthurian legend are great fun. But yet again, the reason for their existence is not entertainment. During the period following the Norman conquest of England, Celtic literature exploded.  And much of it revolved around triumphs of Celtic Britons against their new masters, clearly sending a political message to the Normans. All such stories need a hero for the troops to rally around, which is where Arthur comes in. But the Normans were there to stay and ultimately, Arthurian legend served to introduce them to the culture and past of the Celts.[9]
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the purpose of literature

Literature is a Fundamental
Source of New Insights.

Literature, and a liberal arts education generally, is a fundamental source of cultivating new insights.[10]  L. Frank Baum may have claimed that The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is simply a “wonder tale” written to bring pleasure to children of his era, but the fact that he characterizes his work as a “modernized fairy tale” confirms its function as commentary. Baum reveals one newly discovered insight by stating that the “fearsome morals” in the Grimm and Anderson tales are no longer necessary because “modern education includes morality.”[11]

Published in 1951, the insights expressed in J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye are in response to a newly nuclear world, post-World War II uniformity, and the numbing malaise produced by materialism. Catcher’s teenaged protagonist, Holden Caulfield, is the quintessential anti-hero. He considers just about everyone to be “phony,” as mindlessly falling in line with artificial conventions, and amiability is simply camouflage for self-interest. In a generation defined by conformity, Caulfield has been described as “an icon of restlessness, discontent, rebellion, opposition to the status quo.”[12] Holden Caulfield was a lightning rod for such sensibility, opening the door to the anti-establishment culture that defined the following decade (1960s).[13]

But what about The Zombie Survival Guide and its companion World War Z? Surely those are intended as entertainment. Nope. Needless to say, all writers want their books to be well-received, and Max Brooks is no different. But it is important to note that Brooks had the HIV epidemic in mind when he wrote those.  Not to mention that the CDC was inspired to form a zombie task force, and to establish a Zombie Preparedness page on their website. The campaign is tongue-in-cheek of course, but the CDC put Brooks’ insights to use, in order to educate people about very real hazard preparedness.[14] More broadly, the first of these books is about responding to tragedy when it inevitably strikes, whether that tragedy takes the shape of a tornado, a flood, or the death of your mother, things “that come into your life without prejudice, and destroy it.”[15] The follow-up work, World War Z, is essentially how not to deal with such “zombies.”
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the purpose of literature

Books Allow us to See the World
Through Someone Else’s Eyes.

Perhaps the most important function literature serves is to enable us to see the world through someone else’s eyes. This viewpoint not only broadens our horizons, it helps us realize as Neil Gaiman phrases it “that behind every pair of eyes, there’s somebody like us.”[16] Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man specifically deals with this issue, of not being seen as a unique individual, but merely as a stereotype and therefore not fully human. Books like Ellison’s, that is works that facilitate a shift in perspective by shedding light on uncomfortable situations, may not be “fun,” but as you know by now, literature isn’t written just to entertain us.

Concisely put, literature cultivates empathy. According to John Steinbeck, a base theme runs through “every bit of honest writing in the world,” and that theme is we should “try to understand men (and by that he means people).”[17]  Elaborating on his point Steinbeck further stated, “if you understand each other you will be kind to each other.”[18] In keeping with his observation, the concept of understanding forms the foundation of Steinbeck’s novella Of Mice and Men. Bearing literature’s function of cultivating empathy in mind offers significant insight into other books like this one as well, those with a less than joyful plotline. Franz Kafka sums it up nicely, “If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?… A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.”[19]

The understanding and kindness Steinbeck was referring to goes beyond the “be nice” variety we all learned about in kindergarten. As H. G. Wells observed, the success of civilization itself “amounts ultimately to a success of sympathy and understanding.”[20] Fittingly, Wells indicated that if it had been up to him, every candidate applying for the post of Workhouse Master would be required to pass an exam on Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.[21] For Dickens was a master at revealing the humanity in characters typically seen as unsympathetic during the Victorian era. And in doing so, he exposed how inhumane the social institutions of his day were.
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the purpose of literature

Novels are a Powerful Platform
for Examining Societal Ills.

As Dickens’ work shows us, literature provides a powerful platform for examining societal ills. Novelists of every generation have put unjust, and inappropriate conduct on display. It is critical to remember, however, that depicting such behavior does not mean endorsing it. Sadly, the vast majority of “banned books” are deleted from school curriculums or removed from libraries, because those who challenge them fail to understand this very important point. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is a perfect example of such unfortunate misinterpretation. Readings of this novel are all too often limited to plot, as a period piece set in the decadent “Roaring Twenties,” glorifying alcohol, adultery, and wealth obtained at any moral cost. Fitzgerald, of course, belonged to the World War I-era “Lost Generation.” In a clear Gatsby reference, Beat author John Clellon Holmes described the Lost Generation as “discovered in a roadster, laughing hysterically because nothing meant anything anymore.”[22] Fitzgerald is not condoning the self-destructive practices he depicts. Rather, he shines a light on this conduct as commentary on how devastating The Great War was, in the hope of waking people up to the fact that those lost on the battlefield were not the only casualties.[23]

Authors and their works continue to present, analyze, and illuminate social maladies through and through. Words may appear innocent and powerless when we see them in the dictionary, but as Nathaniel Hawthorne observes, they become incredibly potent “in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.”[24] Some social wounds are so cruel, and so deeply ingrained that, as Toni Morrison points out, unlike reparations, vengeance, or even the justice victims of societal ills seek, it is only writers who can turn such trauma and sorrow into meaning. Only writers can sharpen our moral imagination. Once again, and more emphatically than ever, literature is not written simply for a reader’s gratification. To quote Morrison precisely, “a writer’s life and work are not a gift to mankind; they are its necessity.”[25]

_____________________________________


Be sure to check out these companion articles:

Novels are Like a Layer Cake,
Be Sure to Get Every Bite.

If You’re Not Engaging a Book’s Symbolic Language,
You Aren’t Really Reading It.

Literary Devices:  
Literary Devices: The Author’s Toolbox

Page Capper copy

#literary criticism     #The Art of Reading   #liberal arts      #critical thinking


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Endnotes:

[1] Le Guin, Ursula K. The Language of the Night: Essays on Fantasy and Science Fiction. (New York: Harper Collins, 1992), 22.
[2]Gaiman, Neil. “How Stories Last.” The Long Now Foundation.  Video Seminar. (June 9, 2015).
[3] Gantz, Jeffrey. Early Irish Myths and Sagas. (New York: Penguin Books, 1981), 128-129.
[4] Qallupilluit. http://www.inuitmyths.com/story_qua.htm ; Doucleff, Michaeleen and Jane Greenhalgh. “How Inuit Parents Teach Kids To Control Their Anger.” NPR.org.
[5] Perrault, Charles. Tales of Passed Times. (London: J. M. Dent & Co, 1900), 23.
[6] Mitchell, Stephen. Gilgamesh: A new English version. (London: Profile Books Ltd., 2005), 8.
[7] Kovacs, Maureen Gallery. The Epic of Gilgamesh. (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 1989), xxii-xxiii.
[8] “Making Rome great again: fake views in the ancient world.” University of Cambridge, Research.
[9] The British History of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Translated by A. Thompson, Esq. (1842 edition); Wood, Michael. “King Arthur, ‘Once and Future King.’” BBC History.
[10] Taylor, Charles. A Secular Age. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), 732.
[11] Baum, L. Frank. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. (New York: Harper Collins, 1987), 1.
[12] Shields, David and Shane Salerno. Salinger. (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2013), 260.
[13] Castronovo, David “Holden Caulfield’s Legacy.” New England Review. Vol. 22, No 2 (Sprint, 2001), 180; Shields, David and Shane Salerno. Salinger. (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2013), 260.
[14] Brodesser-Akner, Taffy. “I can’t think of anything less funny than dying in a zombie attack.” The New York Times. June 23, 2013; https://www.cdc.gov/cpr/zombie/index.htm
[15] Brodesser-Akner.
[16] Gaiman, Neil. “How Stories Last.” The Long Now Foundation.  Video Seminar. (June 9, 2015).
[17] Steinbeck, John. Journal entry quoted in Steinbeck Center director Susan Shillinglaw’s introduction to the 1993 Penguin Classics edition of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men.
[18] Ibid.
[19] Kafka, Franz. Letters to Friends, Family and Editors. Translated by Richard and Clara Winston. (New York: Schocken Books, 2016), 16.
[20] Wells, H. G. “The Contemporary Novel.” The Atlantic Monthly. (January, 1912), 1.
[21] Wells.
[22] Holmes, John Clellon. “This is the Beat Generation.” The New York Times. Nov. 16, 1952.
[23] Licari, T. S. “’The Great Gatsby’ and the Suppression of War Experience.” The F. Scott Fitzgerald Review. (Vol. 17, 2019), 207-208.
[24] Nathaniel Hawthorne. Quoted by William Safire. “On language; Gifts of Gab for ’99.” New York Times Magazine. Dec. 13, 1998.
[25] Morrison, Toni. “Peril.” Burn this Book: notes on literature and engagement. Ed. Toni Morrison. (New York: Harper, 2009), 4.

Images:

[1] Legends and Epic Poetry.  The Gilgamesh Flood Tablet is a Mesopotamian clay artifact created in 700 BCE. It lives at the The British Museum in London. The image is in the public domain, and tagged epic poem, cuneiform and artifact. Source:  https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_K-3375

[2] Literature is a Fundamental Source of New Insights. Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash. https://unsplash.com/photos/QfAX7_xjxm4?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

[3] See the World Through Someone Else’s Eyes. Photo by jesse orrico on Unsplash.
https://unsplash.com/photos/OqQyk8vN30k?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

[4] Platform for Examining Societal Ills. Photo by The New York Public Library  on Unsplash. https://unsplash.com/photos/fMFqbGVP2is?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink




Novels are Like Layer Cake – Be Sure to Get Every Bite.

Like birthday cake, layers give a book substance.

he first thing we notice about a birthday cake is the icing. And who doesn’t love a good butter cream or chocolate ganache. But there’s more to these delicious delicacies than just frosting. Without the rich, baked layers upon which it rests, a cake’s icing would be little more than a puddle of sugary goo. Admittedly delicious, but definitely lacking substance.

The same goes for novels. The first thing we notice is the plot. And who doesn’t enjoy reading about a couple guys on a cross-country rager, or a spooky old haunted mansion with an ancestral curse. Hermann Hesse describes this type of reader as “naïve.”[1] They relate to books like a horse to its driver: the book leads, and the reader simply follows. The book’s substance is accepted without question.

But, as Hesse also points out, a book’s content is not the only consideration![2] Just like a birthday cake and its icing, there’s more to a novel than its surface narrative. This is important to keep in mind because, human storytelling has never been only about entertainment. It’s the layers beneath the compelling plot that contain the novel’s meaning.

It may be easy to figure out the “don’t talk to strangers” message underpinning Little Red Riding Hood’s storyline but reading a novel beyond plot-level is a complex and often challenging undertaking. Bearing that in mind, here are a few tools for delving below a novel’s surface plot. Tools that will help you engage and interpret a novel rather than just follow the dotted line from one plot point to the next. Tools designed to make sure you “get every bite.”

Carl Sagan’s insight into reading books is spot-on. It’s also a good place to start for reading beyond plot:

 …you’re inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you.[3]

It’s an intriguing thought. And especially thought-provoking in the context of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s observation, “You don’t write because you want to say something; you write because you’ve got something to say.”[4] Hesse describes those who read from this perspective as engaging a book the way “a hunter follows his prey.”[5] In this case, the prey is a glimpse of what lies beyond the work’s surface narrative.

So, who is the person speaking to you from the pages of the book you’re reading? What was going on in the world at the time they were writing it? And what is it they were compelled to say?
..

Novels are like birthday cake-layers give a book substance

Who’s Doing the Talking?

For instance, a reader doesn’t need to know very much about Jack Kerouac before it is apparent that his novel On the Road is about more than a couple guys getting their kicks on an extended road trip.

Kerouac was part of The Beat Generation, a literary movement that emerged in the early 1950s. Like the Lost Generation of the 1920s, The Beats are a post-war phenomenon. Having experienced the shock and carnage of the world’s first mechanized war, the Lost Generation was born of a sense that nothing meant anything anymore.

The Beat Generation on the other hand has been described as a “seeking” generation. And their essential question was how to live rather than what is there to live for. They faced post-war disillusionment with what Beat poet John Clellon Holmes described as “an almost exaggerated will to believe in something…even in the face of an inability to do so in conventional terms.”[6]

On an individual note, Kerouac considered writing his “duty on earth.”[7] And he is renowned for the writing style he described as “spontaneous prose.”[8] Kerouac’s method is shaped by the notion of rhythm and breath, like meditative breathing or that of a jazz musician.[9]

His style is characterized by a free association of the subconscious mind and an undisturbed flow of words. This method is doubly intriguing when combined with the fact that On the Road was typed on a 120-foot scroll so Kerouac’s stream of consciousness writing wouldn’t be interrupted by the need to insert a new sheet of paper into the typewriter.

Writing is clearly a meditative practice for the literary iconoclast. Knowing this about Kerouac, as well as understanding the historical environment he was operating in, sparks the realization that On the Road is about more than a meaningless cross-country rampage.

When reading from this perspective, we keep our eyes open for phrases and literary devices that enable us to interpret the novel we’re reading rather than simply follow its plot. Our minds are open to the nuanced phrasing and symbolic language that guide us to what (in this case) Kerouac was compelled to say.

Though Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty travel back and forth across the country, it is clear that their journey is actually an inward one. And this, of course, is a much richer and more satisfying read than a story about two guys getting their kicks on a cross-country road trip.
..
..

Like birthday cake, layers give a book substance.

What’s Going on in the World?

Familiarity with a novel’s author and their historical circumstances clearly results in a more meaningful interpretation of the books we read. But it works the other way  around as well. Being receptive to the literary work that takes place below the narrative also gives us insight into historical events of the period. Which in turn, not only leads to a greater understanding of American culture and how it developed, but also our place in it.

Take Nathaniel Hawthorne’s book The House of the Seven Gables for example, the haunted mansion novel mentioned above. Even in his day, Hawthorne’s works were characterized as “full of brooding over the past.”[10] (Being descended from magistrates of the Salem witch trials will do that to you.)[11] Hawthorne himself was described as having an “affinity with the weird, the mysterious, the supernatural,” a “passion for exploring the crypts and caverns of the soul.”[12]

And The House of the Seven Gables contains plenty  of mystery, shadowy shapes, and gloom. The old Pyncheon house is indeed haunted by a bona fide ghost. One of its rooms has a mirror in it “fabled to contain within its depths all the shapes that had ever been reflected there.”[13] Not to mention the Pyncheons’ multi-generational curse.

As to the history at work beneath Hawthorne’s narrative, the work’s protagonist, Mr. Holgrave, is a daguerreotypist by trade. Daguerreotypy was the first widespread form of photography, and in an age of selfies it’s easy to lose sight of just how revolutionary this new technology was. Which is precisely the point.

If we’re only reading at plot level, Hawthorne’s decision to have the descendent of a convicted wizard earn his living as a daguerreotypist is little more than good fun. But the audience of Hawthorne’s day would definitely have understood the significance of pairing wizardry and daguerreotypy.

Unlike drawings and paintings which are products of the human hand, photography has a seemingly magical ability to reproduce life.  And a lot of people found this frightening. [14]  The first article on daguerreotypy published in the United States, described it as a “real black art of true magic.”[15] The author goes on to say:

 What would you say to looking in a mirror and having the image fastened!! As one looks sometimes, it is really quite frightful to think of it.[16]

Granted, you probably wouldn’t know about of articles like this one unless you’re a historian. That said, a Google search and a little initiative can turn up a lot of useful material for informing a deeper understanding of the book we’re reading at the moment.

Not only that, when we read with the mindset to get all a book has to offer, we’re on the lookout for literary choices like the one Hawthorne made. Why did he pair wizardry and photography?

Such decisions are worth digging into. A literary choice like Mr. Holgrave’s occupation may reflect something about this point in history you never knew, didn’t realize the significance of, or hadn’t considered from the perspective the author presents. And like glasses for a near-sighted person, such insights help us see what’s right in front of us more clearly.
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Like birthday cake, layers give a book substance.

How About the Reader?

This is not to say that the reader has nothing to “bring to the party,” as Toni Morrison puts it.[17] I am in no way suggesting that there is an ultimate meaning to be discovered within any text. A reader’s life experience most certainly goes into the making of our proverbial cake.

As the historical circumstances of the author shapes what they write, those of the reader inform their interpretation. For example, hardly anyone talked about The Scarlet Letter in terms of gender, sexuality, and feminism until roughly the late 1960s. Though these themes are prominent in Hawthorne’s work, they simply weren’t on people’s radar until the Women’s Liberation Movement came on the scene.[18]

Speaking of themes… most of us have been taught that a literary theme is a given work’s main topic, what the piece is about. Theme has also been defined as a book’s underlying message, or what the work means. It’s also been boiled down to being the moral of the story.

Many educators consider theme to be one of the most complicated aspects of fiction to discuss, because (as we’ve seen) there’s no simple definition. But there’s one thing these similar but varied renditions have in common – they’re all statements. But themes don’t have to be.

Formulating themes as statements leads to restrictive thinking. Seeing theme as a question, on the other hand, sets up an open-ended thought process, inducing us to ponder larger considerations. For example, noting gender as a theme in The Scarlet Letter ends the discussion… “Hawthorne’s theme is ‘the Puritans were patriarchal tyrants.’”

But considering theme as a question sparks larger thinking, such as “what prompted Hawthorne to choose gender as a means of calling out Puritan theocratic tyranny?” which inevitably leads to “is anything like that happening now?”

Analyzing themes in this manner facilitates a greater understanding of the work itself. But more importantly, the reader can utilize insights they’ve gained to grasp a better sense of the world they live in and their place in it.

That’s what makes stories “true,” even when they’re fiction. It’s what also keeps literature relevant, no matter when it was written.[19]

Like birthday cake, layers give a book substance.

Individual experience also plays a role in how a reader interprets a particular book by coloring how they interpret the symbolic language within the work. For example, if you’re a social studies teacher you might interpret L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as a “parable on populism,” seeing the Scarecrow as a Kansas farmer and the Tin Woodman as a dehumanized laborer.[20]

A student of mythology might see Joseph Campbell’s monomyth at work in the same text.[21] And any number of contemporary women might interpret Dorothy’s courage, strength and cleverness as a feminist journey. [22] Not only is Baum’s protagonist female, Dorothy saves both the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow (who happen to be male) from their states of confinement. She also defeats the Wicked Witch of the West, and sets the Winkies free in the process.[23]

Engaging a book strictly through individual experience constitutes another of Hesse’s reading types. This reader doesn’t read to educate themselves, to examine the author’s interpretation of the world. Rather, they confront reading with complete freedom, books are simply sources of stimulus. [24] 

This type of reader, as Hesse points out, doesn’t actually read what the author has written. Rather, they “swim in a stream of impulses and inspirations” that reach them from what they are reading.[25] These impulses may emerge from the text, but they might just as easily be triggered by the type face. If there’s no concern for the author’s intent and meaning, you might as well be reading instructions on how to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture. [26]

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Like birthday cake, layers give a book substance.

When Horizons Merge.

Interpretations deriving from readers’ life experience shouldn’t stand alone any more than the biographical/ historical interpretations we explored earlier. The best way to get every bite of literary cake, is a fusion of the different horizons we’ve been talking about. Which is simply realizing that both ends of the Author background: Reader response/Contemporary culture spectrum are significant.[27]

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is one example of how such a fusion can play out. When Gatsby is read from the perspective of the Author’s background and history, insight into the disoriented and directionless mindset of post-World War I’s “Lost Generation” may be interesting, but is it relevant?

Those guys are all dead, and prohibition is over… what does it matter. When read from a 21st century reader’s point-of-view, does it resonate? Maybe, but void of a historic context, it is likely to devolve into nothing more than rich people having affairs, drinking too much, and driving too fast.

With a fusion of the respective horizons, however, Jay Gatsby can be seen as suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which we didn’t have the language for at the time it was written. The Great Gatsby is among the novels currently being used in the treatment of returning soldiers. Fitzgerald’s work clearly remains relevant, and it definitely resonates.

Arthur Miller’s The Crucible is another good example.  On its face, the play recounts a pretty accurate depiction of the Salem witch trials. And Miller tells us he had McCarthyism and the post-World War II “red scare” in mind when he wrote it. A contemporary reader, however, may see parallels between the Puritan church’s abuse of power and oppressive institutions of today, like the American prison system.[28]

In addition to what is contained in the text, however, this fusion of horizons opens the door to discussions about what isn’t there. What types of characters are missing? Why are certain characters depicted the way they are? Whose perspective is privileged? And more importantly, who ends up being marginalized as a result? Questions like these can open our eyes to societal ills like racism, sexism, and vestiges of colonialism. In doing so, they begin unwinding the subconscious thought patterns that perpetuate them.[29]

As we said earlier, like icing on a birthday cake, a book’s plot is what we notice first.  But as we have seen, novels are much more than that. “Getting every bite” not only results in a richer, more substantial experience, reading beyond surface narrative ensures that a literary work is never finished saying what it has to say.[30]
_________

___________________________________

Be sure to check out these companion articles:

We May Read for Enjoyment,
But Literature Isn’t Written Just to Entertain Us.

If You’re Not Engaging a Book’s Symbolic Language,
You Aren’t Really Reading It.

Literary Devices:  
Literary Devices: The Author’s Toolbox

Page Capper copy

#literary criticism      #The Art of Reading       #critical thinking     #literacy


Endnotes:

[1] Hesse, Hermann. “On Reading Books.” in My Belief: Essays on Life and Art. Edited by Theodore Ziolkowski. Translated by Denver Lindley. (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1974), 101.
[2] Hesse, 101-102.
[3] Sagan, Carl. Cosmos. Episode 11. “The Persistence of Memory.”
[4] F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Crack-Up. Edited by Edmund Wilson. (New York: New Directions, 1993), 111.
[5] Hesse, 103.
[6] Holmes, John Clellon. This is the Beat Generation.” The New York Times. Nov. 16, 1952.
[7] Brinkley, Douglas. Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954. (New York: Penguin Books, 2006), xii.
[8] Kerouac, Jack. “The Essentials of Spontaneous Prose.” The Black Mountain Review. Issue 7 (Fall 1957), pp 226-228.
[9] Ibid.
[10]More, Paul Elmore. “The Solitude of Nathaniel Hawthorne.” The Atlantic. (November, 1901).
[11] Conway, Moncure Daniel. Life of Nathaniel Hawthorne. (London: Walter Scott, 1890), 171.
[12] Hillard, G. S. “The English Note-Books of Nathaniel Hawthorne.” The Atlantic Monthly. Vol. 26, No. 155. (September 1870), 265-266.
[13] Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The House of The Seven Gables. (New York: Penguin Books, 1986), 20.
[14] America’s First Look into the Camera: Daguerreotype Portraits and Views, 1839-1862.
https://www.loc.gov/teachers/classroommaterials/connections/daguerreotype/history.html
[15] “The Pencil of Nature: A New Discovery.” The Corsair: A Gazette of Literature, Art, Dramatic Criticism, Fashion, and Novelty. April 13, 1839; Vol. 1, 71.
[16] Ibid.
[17] Morrison, Toni. “The Reader as Artist.” O, the Oprah Magazine. Vol. 7, Issue 7. (July 2006), 174.
[18] Milder, Robert. “The Scarlet Letter—Again???” Nathaniel Hawthorne Review, Vol. 40, No. 1 (Spring 2014), 106.
[19] Kramer, Lindsay. “A Guide to Themes in Writing and Literature.” June 29, 2022. Grammarlyblog.
Wrede, Patricia C.  “The Question of Theme.”
Bushnell, J. T. “What is a Theme in Literature?” The Oregon State Guide to Literary Terms.
“Theme.” Literary Devices: Definition and Examples of Literary Terms. 
[20] Littlefield, Henry. “The Wizard of Oz: Parable on Populism.” American Quarterly. Vol. 16, No.1 (Spring 1964), 52, 53.
[21] Gutierrez, Jene’. “Psychospiritual Wizdom: Dorothy’s Monomyth in ‘The Wizard of Oz.’” The Universe of Oz: Essays on Baum’s Series and Its Progeny. Ed Kevin K. Durand and Mary K. Leigh. (London: McFarland & Co, Inc., 2009).
[22] Kent, Paula. “A Feminist Stroll Down the Yellow Brick Road: Dorothy’s Heroine’s Adventure.” The Universe of Oz: Essays on Baum’s Series and Its Progeny. Ed Kevin K. Durand and Mary K. Leigh. (London: McFarland & Co, Inc., 2009).
[23] “We’ve all come a long way from Kansas! Feminism in The Wizard of Oz.” Her Story Arc blog. herstoryarc.com
[24] Hesse, 103.
[25] Hesse, 104.
[26] Hesse, 104-105.
[27] Gadamer, Hans-Georg. Truth and Method. Trans. Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. (New York: Continuum, 2006), 578.
[28] Torres, Julia E. “Disrupting ‘The Crucible.’” DisruptTexts.org.
[29]
Ebarvia, Tricia. Disrupting Texts as a Restorative Practice.
[30] Italo Calivno defined a classic as “a book that has never finished saying what it has to say” in his article “Why Read the Classics?” published in The New York Review of Books. October 9, 1986.

Images:

[1] Who’s Doing the Talking?  Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash.    https://unsplash.com/photos/59lC6TgZAbQ?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

[2] What’s Going on in the World?  Photo by Sophie Louisnard on Unsplash.
https://unsplash.com/photos/uXzYu8Pxcqc?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

[3] What about the Reader?  Photo by Seven Shooter on Unsplash.
https://unsplash.com/photos/hPKTYwJ4FUo?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

[4] The Individual Reader.  Photo by Lilly Rum on Unsplash.  https://unsplash.com/photos/iyKVGRu79G4 

[5] When Horizons Merge. Photo by Mary Bartling.




If You’re Not Engaging a Book’s Symbolic Language, You Aren’t Really Reading It.

Like luggage, symbolic language needs to be unpacked... here's how.

eading literature is more than being swept along by the charm of the characters, anticipation for the next shocking twist, or the thrill of the events on display. But it can be tricky.

After all, as Hermann Hesse points out, the same language employed by poets and novelists is also used in school and business, to dispatch telegrams, and conduct lawsuits. It’s easy to get stuck reading “naïvely,” to assume that a book is to be judged according to its substance. “Just as a loaf of bread is there to be eaten and a bed to be slept in.” [1]

A book’s content, however, is not the only consideration. As pointed out in a previous article, there’s more to a novel than surface narrative. One of the layers that gives meaning to a novel’s narrative is the symbolic language imbedded in it. So, if you’re not engaging a book’s symbolic language, you aren’t really reading it.

A novel’s symbolic language does indeed carry a message beyond simply what happens in the plot. But, like luggage, symbolism needs to be unpacked.  The numerous chapters of a novel, as Virginia Woolf advised, “are an attempt to make something as formed and controlled as a building: but words are more impalpable than bricks; reading is a longer and more complicated process than seeing.”[2] So, no matter how enjoyable a book may be, if you’re just reading for plot and an entertaining story, you aren’t even getting half of what it has to offer. So, here are a few forms of symbolic language to be on the look-out for the next time you pick up a book.
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This Book is Banned- Symbol - Scylla Charybdis

Symbol:
What is it and how does it work?

Strictly speaking, symbol is defined as something that represents something else by association. But, be sure not to confuse symbol with sign. Symbol differs from sign because signs are straightforward. For instance, 👈  means turn left no matter where you are in the world.  Symbols, on the other hand have more than one layer, with the literal meaning “pointing the way” to a second, fuller meaning. So, in order to really read a book, you need to unpack this second layer. Take the sea monsters in Homer’s Odyssey, Scylla and Charybdis, for instance.

In an earlier post, we talked about the fact that literature isn’t written just for our entertainment, that the story is consistently a vehicle for a larger point. And, so it is with the Odyssey. On its face, Homer’s epic is an adventure story about Odysseus, king of Ithaca, and his ten-year journey home after the Trojan War. The Odyssey is chockfull of fantastic creatures, such as the giant Cyclops, and Sirens who lure men to their doom with song, not to mention the six-headed sea monster Scylla and the whirlpool creature Charybdis already mentioned.  Now, Scylla and Charybdis live in close proximity to each other, making it nearly impossible to safely navigate between them. If you steer clear of Scylla’s cave, you get sucked in by Charybdis. On the other hand, if you maneuver away from Charybdis, man-eating Scylla jumps out of its cave and… well, you get the idea. So, what’s a Greek sailor to do?

Odysseus’ dilemma is precisely the point. The literal reading of these two sea monsters “points us” to the realization that this is a situation where there is no good choice. And that is what Scylla and Charybdis symbolizes, the impossible choice we’ve all had to make at one time or another in our lives. While Scylla and Charybdis are a fantastic pair in and of themselves, engaging the symbol, understanding the paired monsters’ deeper meaning gives Homer’s Odyssey continued relevance. Odysseus’ journey gives us insight into our own.

The important thing to remember about symbolic language is that the advent of the written word changed human storytelling. We no longer automatically engage with symbolic language like we did when we lived in an oral culture.  This is not to say the ability to decipher symbol is lost forever. But these days it takes a conscious effort to do so, to do more than simply process text.
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This Book is Banned - Myth - Zeus in Olympia

Myth:
What is it and how does it work?

The next form of symbolic language we’re going to take a look at is myth, and the first thing we need to do is establish what myth is not.  Myth is not folklore, legend, or tall tales, though it is often confused with all of them. If myth isn’t any of these, then what is it? Myth is essentially symbol in narrative form.[3] This form of symbolic language relates how a reality came into existence, be it the whole of creation, a specific species, or a particular human behavior.[4] For example, you’re probably familiar with Prometheus. His is the myth about how human beings acquired the ability to make fire. Though Zeus was withholding fire from humans, Prometheus stole it and gave it to mankind. Needless to say, he was punished for his trouble.[5]

While it’s important to recognize myth when we see it, the discussion at hand leads us to another important factor in the evolution of human storytelling. The recitation of myth that was prevalent in traditional societies has been replaced by the reading of prose narrative, especially the novel. In the context of symbolic language, this turn of events is significant because mythological themes and characters are frequently reflected in modern day novels. So, it helps to “know your myths,” to at least have a passing acquaintance with the classic catalog.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a perfect example of the convergence of myth and literature. In fact, the full title of Shelley’s work is Frankenstein; or the Modern Prometheus. While the plot does indeed revolve around a “monster,” there is much more to it than that. The parallel drawn to a myth about forbidden technology stolen from the gods transforms Shelley’s work from a sleep-over worthy horror story to a narrative that speaks to the ethics and morality of scientific experimentation. And we haven’t even gotten to the consequences of “playing God” yet. Clearly, engaging Frankenstein’s symbolic language results in a more profound reading of Shelley’s work, one more pertinent than ever.

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This Book is Banned - Allegory - Hare and Tortoise

Allegory:
What is it and how does it work?

Like myth, allegory is both representational and in narrative form. While myth is a means of understanding the world and how it came to be, allegory’s purpose is rhetorical in nature. By employing allegory, the author transforms a phenomenon they wish to address into figural narrative.[6] This of course begs the question, if the author transforms the target of their commentary, how does the reader know what the actual subject is?  For starters, the novel’s structure is itself a guiding principle. And ultimately, the author’s message emerges from the details of the text.

Allegory functions on a this equals that formula, and unlike symbol, the secondary meaning is directly accessible. In short, allegory functions rather like a cryptic key. And, knowing at least a little about the author is beneficial. An awareness of the political environment and significant events that occurred during the period the work was written, also helps crack the code.

George Orwell’s commentary on Communist Russia, Animal Farm, is a prime example of allegory. It is highly unlikely that a reader would mistake this book as actually being about talking farm animals in conflict, so what is it really about? The political environment of the period, combined with the character traits of the work’s personified animals, enable the reader to understand the novella as the criticism it is. And Orwell’s choice to convey his political warning through fiction rather than a straightforward political essay conforms to the principle that narrative is the most effective way to circulate critical information. Case in point, a story about authoritarian pigs definitely holds our attention better than straightforward political commentary.

Allegory’s defining this equals that formula is reflected in the direct correlation between Orwell’s farm animals and specific Russian political figures. Old Major, the oldest boar on the farm, embodies Karl Marx. A younger pig named Snowball, represents Leon Trotsky, Vladimir Lenin’s second-in-command. And Joseph Stalin is clearly recognizable as the ruthless boar named Napoleon.[7] In addition to the animal-politician overlay, frequent use of the term “comrades,” makes the theme difficult to miss.[8]
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This Book is Banned - Metaphor - Black Butterfly

Metaphor:
What is it and how does it work?

The last symbolic device we’re going to consider is metaphor. Like myth and folktale, metaphor and simile are often confused. Though they seem similar, the difference is significant. To help clarify between the two devices, let’s take a look the following excerpt from Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, which includes both. While setting a book-filled house aflame, the fire chief directs Bradbury’s protagonist to:

Sit down, Montag. Watch. Delicately, like the petals of a flower. Light the first page, light the second page. Each becomes a black butterfly. Beautiful, eh?  [9]

The way simile works is quite simple. It directly states that one thing is like another thing, that this is like that. But simile is descriptive and nothing more. And as much as simile indicates likeness, it also acknowledges difference. If one thing is like another thing, then these two things cannot be identical. Bradbury’s simile exemplifies this formula, suggesting that the pages of a book Montag and Beatty just set on fire are like the petals of a flower.

Metaphor, on the other hand, functions on a double intentionality much like symbol does. But they too are very different from one another. The distinguishing factor between metaphor and symbol is that rather than having a primary layer that points the way to a second meaning (as in symbol), the concepts at work in metaphor overlap (rather like a Venn diagram) and a new entity is born of the common characteristics.

Bearing this in mind, let’s return to the Bradbury quote. In the metaphor he employs, each page of the burning book becomes a black butterfly, each page is a black butterfly. Clearly, a charred page being a black butterfly is a much more powerful image than if the page just looked like a butterfly. But the reason metaphor is more potent than the other devices we have talked about, is because of the way our brain processes them.

Through what is known as “cross-domain mapping,” information stored in our brain about one concept (in this case charred paper) crosses from its original domain to a different area in the brain, where information about the second element of the metaphor (in this case butterflies) resides.[10] This overlap of domains allows us to utilize what we know about butterflies to think about the charred pages Bradbury refers to.Tapping into our “butterfly information,” we envision each burned page transform (like caterpillars do), emerging from its chrysalis/book, in its new delicate form to waft away on the air. As a result of cross-domain mapping, we relate to metaphor in a way that doesn’t happen with simile. We engage the image invoked rather than merely visualize it.
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Theme:
What is it and how should we think about it?

Technically speaking, a theme is not a form of symbolic language. Theme is, however, a literary device that informs the interpretation of a novel, short story, or poem.

Most of us have been taught that a literary theme is a work’s main topic, what the piece is about. Theme has also been defined as a book’s underlying message, or what the work means. And, theme has been boiled down to being the moral of the story.

Many educators consider theme to be one of the most complicated aspects of fiction to discuss, because (as we’ve seen) there’s no simple definition. But there’s one thing these similar but varied renditions have in common – they’re all statements. But themes don’t have to be.

Formulating themes as statements results in restrictive thinking. Seeing theme as a question, on the other hand, sets up an open-ended thought process, inducing us to ponder larger considerations. For example, noting gender as a theme in The Scarlet Letter ends the discussion… “Hawthorne’s theme is ‘the Puritans were patriarchal tyrants.’”

But considering theme as a question sparks larger thinking, like “what prompted Hawthorne to choose gender as a means of calling out Puritan theocratic tyranny?” which leads to the inevitable question “is anything like that happening now?”

The inimitable Chekhov said it best:

This Book is Banned_Scarlet Alphabet It seems to me that the writer should not try to solve such ques­tions as those of God, pes­simism, etc. His busi­ness is but to describe those who have been speak­ing or think­ing about God and pes­simism, how and under what cir­cum­stances. The artist should be not the judge of his char­ac­ters and their con­ver­sa­tions, but only an unbi­ased observer.

You are right in demanding that an artist approach his work consciously, but you are confusing two concepts: the solution of a problem and the correct formulation of a problem. Only the second is required of the artist. [11]

Analyzing themes in this manner facilitates a greater understanding of the work itself. But more importantly, the reader can utilize insights they’ve gained to grasp a better sense of the world they live in and their place in it.

That’s what makes stories “true,” even when they’re fiction. It’s what also keeps literature relevant, no matter when it was written.[12]

                   

As you can see by the literary devices we have examined, a novel’s symbolic language does indeed carry a message beyond merely what happens in the plot. And more often than not, it’s hauling a significant load. So, I’ll wrap up this excursion into symbolic language where I began, with the admonition that if you are not engaging a book’s symbolic language, then you aren’t really reading it.

But now you know what is meant by “symbolic language,” and you have a few tools to unpack it with.

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Be sure to check out these companion articles:

We May Read for Enjoyment,
But Literature Isn’t Written Just to Entertain Us.

Novels are Like a Layer Cake,
Be Sure to Get Every Bite.

Literary Devices:  
Literary Devices: The Author’s Toolbox

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#literary criticism     #The Art of Reading      #symbolic language

#critical thinking     #literary devices    #literacy


Endnotes:

[1] Hesse, Hermann. “Language.” and “On Reading Books.” in My Belief: Essays on Life and Art. Edited by Theodore Ziolkowski. Translated by Denver Lindley. (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1974), 26, 101-102.
[2] Woolf, Virginia. “How Should One Read a Book?” The Common Reader, Second Series. (1935). (Gutenberg of Australia eBook. 0301251h.html).
[3] Ricoeur, Paul. Symbolism of Evil. (Boston: Beacon, 1978), 18.
[4] Eliade, Mircea. Myth and Reality. Translated by Willard R. Trask. (Prospect Heights, Ill: Waveland Press, Inc., 1963), 5.
[5] Hansen, William. Classical Mythology: A Guide to the Mythical World of the Greeks and Romans. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 48.
[6] Johnson, Gary. The Vitality of Allegory: Figural Narrative in Modern and Contemporary Fiction. (Columbia: Ohio State University Press, 2012), 8.
[7] Orwell, George. Animal Farm. (New York: Penguin, 1996), vi.
[8] Johnson, 25.
[9] Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2013), 72.
[10] Lakoff, George. “Contemporary theory of metaphor.” Metaphor and Thought (2nd edition). Edited by Andrew Ortony. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 203.
[11] “Learning from Chekhov.” In Writers on Writing. Edited by Robert Pack, jay Parini.   Hanover: University Press of New England, 1991. Pg 229.
[12] Kramer, Lindsay. “A Guide to Themes in Writing and Literature.” June 29, 2022. Grammarlyblog.
Wrede, Patricia C.  “The Question of Theme.”
Bushnell, J. T. “What is a Theme in Literature?” The Oregon State Guide to Literary Terms.
“Theme.” Literary Devices: Definition and Examples of Literary Terms.

Images:

[1] Introductory Photo. Photo by Koala on Unsplash . https://unsplash.com/photos/P0NuBF6nA7A?

[2] Scylla and Charybdis. Gillray, James, Artist. Britannia between Scylla & Charybdis. or – The vessel of the Constitution steered clear of the Rock of Democracy, and the Whirlpool of Arbitrary-Power / Js. Gy. desn. et fect. pro bono publico. Great Britain, 1793. [London: Pub. by H. Humphrey, April 8th] Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/94509857/

[3] Standbeeld van Zeus in Olympia. Anonymous, after Philips Galle, after Maarten van Heemskerck, 1638. Public Domain via Rijksmuseum.nl   http://hdl.handle.net/10934/RM0001.COLLECT.114919

[4] Aesop, Walter Crane, Elizabeth Robins Pennell Collection, and Oliver Wendell Holmes Collection. The baby’s own Aesop: being the fables condensed in rhyme, with portable morals pictorially pointed. London ; New York: George Routledge & Sons, 1887. Pdf. https://www.loc.gov/item/04017584/.

[5] Black Butterfly. Photo by Millie Greaves on Unsplash.
https://unsplash.com/photos/GKdeGSTlayM?

[6] Crystal Ball. Photo by Alvin Lenin on Unsplash
https://unsplash.com/photos/2ta8OjluZuI?




A Caboodle of Fun & Fancy Words

Words can be fun

.
ust as Mary Poppins taught us, words can be fun! Remember supercalifragilisticexpialidocious? And let’s not forget King Lear’s flibbertigibbet. Then there’s the magical incantation abracadabra.

But these are just a start, take a gander below.

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Discombobulated:

The word discombobulate sounds like you feel when discombobulation takes place. If you’re so confused and flustered you can’t think straight, you’re discombobulated. And what you need…  is to get recombobulated. Which is easier said than done. It’s a bit of a tongue-twister so it isn’t that easy to say, much less do.

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Bamboozle:

It means to be hoodwinked, flimflammed, hornswoggled — all fun & fancy words that mean to be tricked, deceived in underhanded ways. Like the way Tom Sawyer bamboozled his friends into whitewashing that fence for him, so he could play all day.

It may be a Fun & Fancy Word, but being bamboozled can be very serious.
Discover why this locution is more important than ever. 

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Hobbledehoy:

An adolescent boy whose transition to adulthood is as gawky and awkward as the word hobbledehoy itself.  Think Neville Longbottom in his first year at Hogwarts.

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Zaftig:

Zaftig means to be beautifully full-figured, voluptuous, and curvaceous – like Ashley Graham, Danielle Brooks, and Christina Hendricks. Also termed Rubenesque, after the sensuous goddesses depicted in the paintings of Flemish Baroque artist Peter Paul Rubens.

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Malapropism:

They’re always hilarious. That is, unless you’re the one guilty of the ludicrous misuse of a word in place of one that sounds similar, then it’s embarrassing. Just ask heavyweight boxer Mike Tyson, who said he was “fading into Bolivian” (instead of oblivion).

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Abibliophobia:

It means the fear of running out of things to read, and given your obvious interest in books, you may suffer from this frightful word. If so, alleviate your fear by availing yourself of the resources for free banned books on the bottom of our home page.

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Sycophant:

Also known as a “suck-up,” “bootlicker,” or “toady.” A sycophant is a fawning parasite who gets in the good graces of their target with groveling, ego-stroking praise. Some literary sycophants are: Othello’s Iago, Uriah Heep from David Copperfield, and nearly everyone who works for Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada.

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Liminality:

A state that’s betwixt & between. No, not Colorado in relation to Utah and Kansas. Liminality is the middle phase in rites of passage, the transition from one mode of being to another. From childhood to adulthood, for example. From living the single life to being married. Or from partying it up in college to paying off student loans. Liminality is full of potential, but disorienting because you’re no longer this but not yet that. In short, your average high school experience.
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Widdershins:

You could just say counter-clockwise, or that something’s moving in the wrong direction. But that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun…   now would it?
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Autodidact:

Do you suffer from autodidactism? Do you have an insatiable thirst for knowledge? Do you take pleasure in learning everything you can about things you are interested in? Are you a self-learner? If so, congratulations, you are an autodidact.
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Pulchritudinous:

Although pulchritude sounds like something you’d scrape off your shoe, pulchritudinous actually means beautiful. Not just attractive, good-looking or “hot,” but overwhelmingly beautiful, to the point of leaving onlookers awestruck.
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Gobsmacked:

No… gobsmacked is not a never-ending candy made by Willy Wonka. It means to be utterly astounded, astonished, overwhelmed by surprise. Like you’ve been slapped in the face. Gobsmacked is how Brad Pitt described himself when he won his best supporting actor Oscar for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.
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#the art of reading     #liminality

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